


The noose tightens

by Minkey222



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Bucky Barnes Feels, Depressed Steve Rogers, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers AKA most definitely not fine, Steve Rogers AKA the king of hiding hurts, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, Stucky if you squint, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 14:30:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10280948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minkey222/pseuds/Minkey222
Summary: Taking his thumb out from between his teeth, saving them from the brutal tirade of his anxiety. He began to pick at his cuticles instead. It seemed recently that he was becoming less of himself, jittery, shaky, his mind drawing him deeper and deeper into a pit that even he was scared of, mostly because he knew that once he was in there he would never come out again- Or at least not all in one piece. Once he reached the depth the pit he would become reckless, he would become dangerous, to the enemy and the allies. He would probably end up dead. And he couldn’t do that because they all needed him and if not him, then the Captain.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Been in the works for a while. Enjoy.

“Buck, you have to get up. Please? For me?” Steve tried to reason with the unmoving lump under the covers but they didn’t respond, instead choosing to roll further away from the doorway. Steve just sighed, staring at the LED clock showing the numbers 15:45.

“Alright, but you’ll have to get up later, we’re having a team dinner tonight and they’ll want you to be there, Buck. I’ll come in later to get you up ‘cause you might want to have a shower.” He explained as he walked away from the room, leaving the lights on because if Bucky wants them off he can do it himself. Look, he understands where this is coming from, Bucky’s been through some real tough stuff; with Hydra and everything, but he can’t keep going on like this. It really can’t be good for him. Sighing again as he walked into his bedroom, Steve sank down onto the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.

 

“Would you like me to contact-?” Jarvis’ voice suddenly sounded in the room but Steve quickly cut him off.

“No, no it’s alright- I’m alright. Bucky’s the one who’s hurting right now, I just need to focus on him. Thank you for asking.” Steve replied, shaking his head slightly from his position.

“Alright, sir. As you wish,” And the voice left as soon as it came. He took a few more moments to compose himself he stood and walked over to his adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Switching on the light he started to bite down hard on his thumb, right at the knuckle, he paced the room- up and down again and again- letting the repetitive action numb his brain, if only for a moment. He worked the flesh between his molar teeth until there was nothing but raw skin left; painful, pink and bleeding in some places.

He knew what he had to do- or rather what he had to be. Strong for Bucky, a leader for the team, an icon for the nation. But could he do that? Captain America could- placating, all muscles and winning smiles. Steve couldn’t, though, weak Steve, who couldn't handle the stress, lazy Steve, who couldn't even drag himself out of bed on some days, selfish Steve, who needed touch- But he didn't deserve it. Steve who had to look after Bucky, who was deserving of love, who needed attention and help because he’d been through hell ten times over and more. He was created for a purpose, he was given a job and he'd be damned if he didn't fulfil it. He had to be everything that they needed.

But right now they weren’t there. It was just him all alone. It was his time to do whatever he wanted to do. He shouldn't take time off, he should spend more time helping Bucky, persuading him to get out of bed, or helping Tony making sure he’d eaten or seeing in Bruce was okay or if Nat wanted to spar or if Clint wanted to talk or- He could go on. But he had about half an hour before he could do anything. Nat and Clint were out, Tony was with Pepper sorting something out for SI and Bruce was doing an experiment and he specifically ordered for no interruptions except for mortal peril. And of course there was Bucky but he deserved the rest. Steve didn’t.

Taking his thumb out from between his teeth, saving them from the brutal tirade of his anxiety. He began to pick at his cuticles instead. It seemed recently that he was becoming less of himself, jittery, shaky, his mind drawing him deeper and deeper into a pit that even he was scared of, mostly because he knew that once he was in there he would never come out again- Or at least not all in one piece. Once he reached the depth the pit he would become reckless, he would become dangerous, to the enemy and the allies. He would probably end up dead. And he couldn’t do that because they all needed him and if not him, then the Captain. Yeah, he couldn’t let it happen and even if it did he wouldn’t let them notice it. Not that he’d have any hope of hiding it with two ex-spies hanging around constantly, but he’d do his darndest to keep it from them. He’d just put his game face on, give his friends the winning smile, fill their ears will a false chipper tone; ‘Yes Natasha, I have eaten today’, ‘No Bruce, I am not injured’, ‘Of course Bucky, I’ll help you with that’. But it would all be fake.

He stopped his pacing, not realising that he had bitter, angry and yet sad tears dripping down his cheeks. Looking down at his mangled hands and sighing once more, knowing that they wouldn’t be quite healed by the time he had to face people. He’d have to make some excuse but he was fine- He was fine, he swears.

“Jarvis, what time is it?” He asked, whilst wiping his tears away roughly.

“The time is quarter past four, sir.” The AI’s voice sounded oddly concerned- as concerned as a computer could sound.

“Thank you, Jarvis. Please notify me in half an hour’s time so I can get Bucky up.” Steve spoke voice wavering.

“Of course, sir.” And the voice disappeared again. Half an hour would be enough time to have a shower and get ready before rousing Bucky. But how he’d lost half an hour already he didn’t know. Shaking himself mentally he switched on the shower, stripping down until he was only in his underwear, he waited for the water to heat up to almost scalding. Slipping out of his underwear as well he stepped under the spray of water, smiling slightly at the sharp sting of the heat.  The pleasure didn’t last long and soon enough Steve’s thoughts turned back to Bucky and how much he’s failed him. It’s his fault that Bucky is like this now, if he had just grabbed onto him they’d both be happy. But no- He had let him go and Buck had ended up in Hydra’s hands.

His thoughts turned ‘round and ‘round about his blame and his guilt until he couldn’t take it anymore. Grabbing a small bag from inside an empty shampoo bottle he pulled out a couple razor blades, setting one down on the ledge and keeping one in his hand. Twirling the blade around his fingers he pressed a fingertip to the point and was pleased with the sting it caused. He knew that this wasn’t a long term solution and he knew that it was sick what he was doing but right now he didn’t care. If he could feel a fraction of what Bucky went through he’d be happy because he should have been the one to suffer not him; Bucky didn’t deserve any of what he got. Moving the sharp object to his leg, he hovered over the thick flesh of his thigh and pressed down in one swoop leaving a deep, long, red line about half an inch wide and 4 inches long. It was very wrong and he was sure that had he been normal it would have been very painful and almost fatal if he hit an artery but he wasn’t normal and knew it would heal soon, not even leaving a scar. He sighed as the blood flowed from him along with the negativity and bad thoughts and now, he thought, he could focus entirely on Bucky. He was no good to anyone if his head was full of practically suicidal thoughts. He’d already committed to the grave once and that was when Bucky was dead, it’d be bad if he tried again and he was sure he’d be thorough this time. 

 

But he wasn’t suicidal. 

 

He was fine. He had to be- for everyone else.

Steve finished in the showered, wrapping a bandage around the slowly healing wound and replacing the blades back into the bottle and placing it on his shelf. He wrapped a towel around himself as he left the bathroom to get some clothes. He dressed quickly and just as he was pulling on a shirt Jarvis’ voice sounded in his room.

“It has been half an hour, sir” and Steve simply nodded.

“Thank you, Jarvis,” He replied and just as he was about to open the door to the hallway Jarvis spoke again,

“Captain, if I may? You did it again; I highly recommend talking to-” Steve cut off the AI.

“I said Thank you, Jarvis,” And Steve opened the door, walked out into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him, breathing a sigh of annoyance. Then taking a deep breath in- because, really, being annoyed would not help him with Bucky- he started to walk down the hallway to Bucky’s room once again. Knocking lightly on the door Steve pushed it open slowly.

“Bucky?” He asked lightly, not really sure what to expect. When he did look inside the room he saw that Bucky was in the same position that he had been in since he’s left but by the crumples in the sheets, it was obvious that he’d moved and then returned to that position rather than having stayed in it all afternoon. Steve shook his head to straighten out his thoughts.

“Come on, Buck,” he said as he stepped towards the bed, touching Bucky’s arm lightly, “Let’s move,” and hooking his hands under his armpits he hoisted Bucky up into an upright position, frowning at the specks of blood from places where Bucky’s metal hand had rubbed the skin on his wrist raw- It was just a thing that Bucky did sometimes, not dangerous just worrying; Steve told the voice that said what he did was more worrying to shut up- and shook him slightly. That woke him up some and so Steve clarified,

“You have to get ready for dinner, Buck,”  Steve laid a kiss on his forehead and pulled him so that he was standing up when he got a nod in return.

Bucky dressed lethargically and mechanically, like an engine running on low. Steve simply sat and waited for him, every so often feeling the press of the bandage against his trousers. He winced and felt conflicted between the parts of him that said yes and the parts of him that despise the feeling. Shaking his head he notices that Bucky is near ready to go so he stands and walks to the door. Bucky joining his side not much later.   
  


* * *

 

Breathing was getting harder and harder to maintain, but he had to- he just had to, for Bucky’s sake. Taking more of Bucky’s weight in his arms he half helped half pulled Bucky to his bed and pulling off his shoes. Steve smoothed a stray hair away as he watched Bucky’s jaw clench and unclench. He pulled his hand away from his flesh wrist as he noticed Bucky scratching again. Steve sighed around his tunnel vision. After that Bucky seemed to melt into the pillow and drifted off to sleep. Steve was getting worried about how much he seemed to sleep but he knew that he deserved it. He deserved anything and Steve would give him the world if he asked for it. The unwelcome voice in the back of his head piped up once again as he pressed a light kiss to Bucky’s forehead before turning the light off with a ‘click’ and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. 

The voice whispers tickled the back of his neck, his fist forming by his side, the nails digging in and pulling out crescent chunks of flesh. He chewed his bottom lip until he tasted blood as he paced up and down and up and down again and again. His breathing stuttered as he finally allowed himself a moment to control himself. He stops and screws his eyes shut pushing the palms of his hand into the sockets of his eyes so hard he starts to see white. He exhales noisily and slowly releases the pressure.

 

He’s fine.

 

He’s  _ fine. _

 

Inhale, exhale. See. Fine.

He shivers as he scratches at his neck. Totally fine.

He doesn’t understand why his heart is still racing at a speed that is far too fast to be normal or why his knuckles are itching for him to punch something or why the almost healed wound on his leg is pounding at the same time as his head. He’s fine.

 

Completely and utterly normal.

 

Doesn’t change the fact that he is unconsciously walking toward the bathroom. Hanging his head he leans over the sink.

Dinner was disastrous. Someone said something and Bucky did not react well. He can’t remember what happened. One minute he’s happily eating the spaghetti Bruce cooked and the next Bucky’s throat is seizing up and he can’t breathe and he’s panicking and panicking and-

Oh. He cracked the tile. His finger’s bleeding onto the white as the crack tears into his skin and as he sticks the stinging digit into his mouth his head won't shut up. The copper taste turning up the volume and it WON'T. SHUT. UP. 

Moving backwards until his back hits the wall Steve tries to pull in a breath but he can’t. It’s like there’s a noose around his neck and it’s pulling and pulling. He knows this state of panic well. His vision wobbles around the edges like a bad movie. He feels like he’s back in the 20’s when his asthma was as dangerous as any of his other diseases and malformation. He can’t think and he’s panicking and he doesn’t deserve to be panicking because Bucky should be the one who’s hurting but Steve’s just being selfish and panicking when he should be looking after Bucky and-

He bites down hard on his finger. He knows he has broken the skin further. He can’t be bothered to care. He waves his free hand frantically on the ledge of the bathtub looking for his saviour. He grabs it and without noticing he has several deep, gushing, pulsing wounds dripping onto the tiles floors. Steve wants to be sick. He can’t be sick. His hand wavers as he debates between adding another to the line or cleaning himself up. He’s stuck. He can’t move.

He puts the razor blade down.

He grabs a wad of tissue and shoves it onto his leg. It stains instantly and he grabs some more.

Eventually, it slows enough for him to stand and get into the shower for the second time that day. He stands under the spray apathetically not even waiting for it to get warm. His inner voice is screaming at him so loudly he swears his head will split in two. The water beneath him swirls with red drops blooming into rose petals. Looking at his leg he sucks a breath in as he sees the damage he caused. Rows upon rows of deep cuts run up his thigh. His chest sucks in. He blinks away the sudden tears.

He’s fine.

He finishes in the shower and angrily bandages the wound and pulls his clothes on. Ignoring the way that the fabric tugs on the tender skin. Ignoring the imploring call of ‘Steve?’. His head is fuzzy in a way he hasn’t felt in years as he drags his protesting legs to the edge of his bed and he becomes one with the pillow. He sleeps deeper and more fitfully than he has in a long time.

* * *

 

His slumber is broken when a tentative knock at the door turns into a crashing entrance. Steve sits up, alert and fingers curling into a fist under his pillow. His shredded skin pulling. He winces. 

He calms considerably when his better-than-average eyesight makes out the shaking form of Bucky on his bedroom floor. He’s out of bed in an instant, his hands reaching out to touch him but staying just a hairsbreadth away; an unspoken request to touch him. He wants nothing more to pull Bucky into his chest and chase away his demons but he settles for sitting on his haunches until he accepts his offer. He does after a while- a small keening noise is the only warning he gets until his body is swamped by him. Steve breathes his scent in deeply- he smells of sweat and musty air, his aftershave and metal polish. He smells like home. Steve’s shoulders droop. He shifts when Bucky places his weight on his leg.

He whispers sweet nothings to Bucky until he starts to unfurl himself into him. His hand running up and down the hidden vertebrae in Bucky’s back. His tear wetting the collar of his shirt. He didn’t care.

Bucky was allowed to hurt, to cry to break. Steve bites his lip.

He was allowed this touch.

Steve wasn’t.

 

Eventually, Bucky stops shaking so violently and his body seems to become less rigid. He becomes looser and more exhausted. When Bucky faces him, he can just about make out the purple bags under his eyes. His haunted, sad eyes that carry the weight of his past. Of his judgement. 

He takes a deep breath in and Bucky copies. He does it again and Bucky follows suit. They spend a moment longer like this, huddled on the floor. Steve is dazed and weepy when Bucky stands and nods towards the bathroom. Steve nods his agreement wearily and he walks off the bathroom door shutting softly behind him, leaving Steve in darkness again. The soft pitter patter of the shower lulls Steve into a sort of half sleep slumped over in his position on the floor.

Suddenly, the bathroom door slams open. Not quite slam. But loud. The light in the room highlighting the wisps of condensation escaping the confines of the small room.

“Steve?” There’s an odd lilt to Bucky’s voice as he calls him, his voice husky. His head seems to spin as he turns to face him. His eyelids not fully open.

“Buck?” He asks softly.

“What’s this?” He holds a small bag up in his metal hand. Steve’s eyes snap open as he stares guiltily at the bag. Bucky’s hair drips water onto the shoulder of his t-shirt. It’s the one Tony bought him for his 100th birthday. The one with his shield on it. It says ‘#1 fan’. He wants to laugh. He can't. Not with Bucky staring at him like that.

“What’s what?” He plays ignorant. He thinks himself a good enough actor or at least detached enough to give a good enough performance. Apparently not. Bucky can read him cover to cover.

“Steve.” He sounds defeated as he takes a couple strides to come to his side. Dropping the bag into his lap.

“What happened, punk?” And Steve puts all his energy into looking him in the eye and not bursting into tears right then and there. 

“I-” That’s as far as he gets as his throat constricts once again and the noose is back and he can’t breathe and-

Bucky’s hand brushes his shoulder and he just curls himself into his shoulder.

“I’m fine” He squeezes out between the sobs and Bucky just laughs bittersweetly.

“I wouldn’t call this fine, Steve,” He says it so sincerely and so softly that it starts another round of tears. Bucky doesn’t relent in his soothing touch. 

“I- I’m fine, I swear. It doesn’t matter, I just- It’s nothing. I promise,” He’s rambling, he knows he is but he can’t stop the word rolling out of his mouth. Bucky won't accept it, though.

“Steve, it’s okay to not be fine, pal,” Steve looks him in the eye.

“But-” He starts but is cut off.

“You can tell me anything. ‘Til the end of the line, pal.” And Steve just breaks down like that. He babbles his way through an explanation. Bucky looks so, so sad but he just can't stop. Bucky looks wounded and pained but takes a look at his leg and wraps it better than he had in his own blood deprived state. Steve doesn’t say a word after that. Bucky just wraps his arms around his shoulders and sways, much like he had to him earlier that day. Bucky places a kiss to his hair as he starts to pull him upright. He can feel the clammy heat of Bucky’s own skin pressed against his.

“Look at us,” He says in a whisper. Bucky hums in agreement.

“A pair of broken fools,” He pulls him closer as they sink into the bed.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I should have seen.” Their eyes slip closed.

“You have your own problems, Buck,” His breathing starts to slow.

“And you have yours, don’t put me above you,” Bucky breathes him in.

“I can’t do that and you know it, Buck,” Steve nestles his head closer to his heart.

“Well, we’ll just have to look after each other then.” Their heartbeats match up.   
And the noose eased just a little bit.


End file.
